


When The Snow Begins to Fall

by Loki_The_Mad



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:29:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28304580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loki_The_Mad/pseuds/Loki_The_Mad
Summary: Marion and Greyson's first Christmas after the events of ASBH, but all is not calm and bright after all.Our boys have a lot of healing to do still, but maybe there can be one day when they don't have to think about it. For the most part.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	When The Snow Begins to Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [After the Storm, Before the Hurricane](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24057970) by [Drxxmingofblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drxxmingofblue/pseuds/Drxxmingofblue), [Loki_The_Mad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loki_The_Mad/pseuds/Loki_The_Mad). 



The first thing Marion saw when he woke up at 2:37 in the morning on December 24th, 2021 was the portrait they hung up on the wall next to Marion’s side of the bed. A messy watercolor painting of a swallow sat on a branch in autumn- Greyson had insisted their room feel warm all the time, and therefore have warm colors. Lottë had gotten it as a housewarming gift. 

The first thing Marion felt, when he woke up at 2:37 in the morning on December 24th, 2021 was the lack of warmth next to him. Greyson had long ago realized the fantasy of sleeping in each other’s arms every night was unrealistic, but normally they woke up tangled together during the winter, simply because of the sheer cold of everything. Marion could remember, on a night like this, when neither of them could fall asleep, that Greyson had told him his body never truly adjusted to the lack of pure heat he’d had since birth. Like a candle going out, he’d described it. He doubted his body would ever adjust to the lack of light.

The next afternoon Marion came home with fuzzy socks and hot cocoa mix and a heating blanket, and told him that you’re never going to freeze, not on my watch. 

So the lack of one Greyson Calva curled around his back like he was the last source of heat in the world was very disconcerting. 

The heat blanket had been kicked to the foot of the bed, so Marion was shivering, too. He shifted onto his back. The light to the bathroom wasn’t on, the bedroom door wasn’t open.

He was hit, rather abruptly, with a blast of cold air from outside. From the balcony. A blast of cold air, and a faint scent of cigarettes. 

Marion sat up. Greyson didn’t smoke. His nightstand’s drawer was open. Had anyone else looked inside, it would have looked like a mess of chapstick and chargers and lotion, but Marion noted the missing lighter and pack of cigarettes.

Greyson didn’t smoke. He knew who did, though. 

Marion pulled himself out of bed. He was wearing a well-worn pair of red flannel pajama pants, socks, and one of Greyson’s hoodies (at least, he thought it was Greyson’s. They were too close in size to remember what belonged to who anymore)

He padded over to the balcony door and peeked out. Sure enough, leaning over the railing with a half-finished cigarette, wearing nothing but navy blue sweatpants, was Corvid. 

“Couldn’t sleep…?” Marion asked quietly. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. It was the first time Marion had come outside. 

Corvid didn’t turn to look at him. He didn’t have to; he’d heard his footsteps. The pack of cigarettes and lighter sat on the little table they never used (always preferred the roof). Snow sprinkled down from the dark sky.

Marion took the several seconds of silence as an answer.

“It’s cold out here. You’re not wearing socks, or a hoodie.”

The scars were on full display. Marion was past desensitized to them by now. They were a part of Greyson. A part of the man he loved. 

“I’ll only be out for a little bit. ‘s fine.”

“Your cheeks are pink.”

“So? Why do you care?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

Corvid bit his lip a bit. Took another drag off his cigarette. 

“Because I’m not Greyson.”

“You’re just as much of a person, Jacob.” Marion leaned on the railing, trying to meet his eyes. He was staring straight ahead. At what, that was anyone’s guess. 

“Just as much of a monster, you mean.” 

“No, I don’t. You’re a person. Just as much as I am, just as much as Greyson and Avery are.” 

“Do you want to take off that hoodie and let me remind you?” Finally, he glanced at Marion. His feet were bright red in the couple of inches of snow gathered on their balcony. It was supposed to get worse before it got better, tonight. Marion’s socks were soaked.

“That’s not- that doesn’t matter, anymore. I’ve forgiven you. I forgave you a long, long time ago.”

“Fuck your forgivness. You forgave Greyson.”

“And you.”

“He didn’t.” Another drag of his cigarette.

“He’s going to. Give him time.” Jacob half-laughed at that. 

“What, you know him better than I do now?”

“Probably not. I know him from a different perspective than you do, though. And anger can cloud thoughts.” Another, louder laugh.

“You think I’m angry?”

“At something or another, yes. Mind telling me what that is?”

“Oh, why don’t you take a guess, mister therapist?” His feet shifted in the snow packed under his feet. They were so cold it hurt, at this point. Maybe that was on purpose. 

“Part of therapy is knowing when to ask your patients outright.”

“I’m not your patient.” 

“I never said you were. But if I can help you, I’d like to give it a shot. It’s okay to be upset. Why don’t we go inside, okay? Soak your feet in the bath. It’s cold out here.”

Jacob gazed at him for a moment. Those were Greyson’s eyes. And Jacob’s, too. He fizzled the cigarette out in the ashtray on the table and followed him in. 

Marion led him to their master bathroom and started it running at a lukewarm temperature- just enough to warm his feet, but not enough to burn. Corvid pulled up the bottom of his sweatpants and dipped them in as Marion settled himself on the side of the bathtub. 

“Alright. Tell me what’s up.” Jacob kept his eyes on the tub, on the ripples in the water every time he kicked his feet.”

“You said I’m- angry?”

“You’d know better than me, but yes. What is it that you think you’re so upset about?”

“Why should I spill my guts to you?”

“By all means, if you don’t want to, don’t. I’m just saying that it’s helped Greyson out a whole bunch.”

“Greyson’s got the least of it.” He scoffed. “I-how much do you know about this whole split thing anyway?”

“I’ve looked into it with Greyson, and his therapist. And my therapist.”

“So you know what a-a protector is?”

“For the most part. You’re there to keep Greyson away from the bad parts, aren’t you?” Marion shifted so he was facing Jacob, his legs crossed.

“I… yeah. ‘M the one that holds onto the bad memories so he doesn’t have to.”

“Do you… resent him for that?” Marion automatically went to hold his hand comfortingly. Jacob jerked it away. He hadn’t had as much time to get used to the contact. Not as much as Greyson, or Avery. 

“No. Gods, no. It’s not his fault we split. I guess I just… resent being the one that had to do it. And as far as I know, I’m the only one that had to do it. That has to do it. Avery doesn’t have any. Greyson’s got far, far less than I do…” he seemingly trailed off…

And then, blurted out- “Do you remember the last fight?” 

Marion was almost taken aback by the question. Startled by it, at least. Forcing itself to the front of his mind was the reminder that this was the man that hurt him. 

It felt like seeing Greyson behind that wall of glass all over again. This was the man that had hurt him- there was no doubt this time- and it was over, and he was hurting, and something had to be done about it. Marion was too good of a person to just let him stay that way. 

“Not- not very… vividly. I remember… the explosion. The big one. And I remember wrapping you in metal. So much damn metal…” 

“You don’t remember anything before?” He seemed to be holding his breath, almost. Hoping to heaven or hell or something that he didn’t remember any of it, that he’d been too dazed and drugged to remember what Jacob had done. 

“It came back in… bits and pieces. I remember most of it.”

A dreadful, revolting feeling rose up in his stomach. His throat burned, suddenly, with uncried sobs and unshed tears. He’d hurt this man, in the most appalling, abhorrent ways, and still, there was an engagement ring on his finger.

“And- Hey, are you listening to me? And I’ve come to peace with it. I know you weren’t in the right state of mind. Greyson certainly wasn’t, I can only assume you were worse.”

A ragged cry. 

“Why don’t we get you in to Greyson’s therapist, okay…? I’ll email her in the morning. She specializes in Dissociative Identity Disorder.”

“I don’t want a therapist-”

“Greyson said that too-”

“I’m not Greyson! I’m nothing like Greyson, so stop-stop fucking comparing me to him.” 

Marion was quiet for a moment. 

“I’m sorry, Jacob. I’m learning. Please, be patient with me.”

“I had enough of being patient with you when I was torturing you.” He stood up. He needed… he needed to get out of here. Where, he didn’t know. His apartments were long gone, but surely one of his supporters was still loyal, right? 

Jacob stepped out of the bath, ignoring the wet foot prints, and went for the closet. Marion let out a breath and followed him. 

Jacob rifled through the various shirts and sweaters- an overabundant amount of sweaters, no one in the world needed that many sweaters- for a good winter coat. He knew Greyson kept an emergency bag somewhere in the back corner, too, and he’d grab that before he left-

“Deep breaths, Jacob. Running isn’t going to help you or him. Let’s think through this rationally.” Marion stood in the doorway to their closet. 

“It’s called a fight or flight reaction. And I’m not going to fight you.” 

“We’re not animals. You don’t need a fight or flight response. Come sit down, okay? Talk to me.” 

Jacob jerked the backpack from where it was pressed into the corner on the shelf. He was sure the granola bars and jerky might have been expired by now, but he’d need those supplies if he was going to run-

“Jacob. Be rational. Are you in danger? Do you think I’m going to hurt you?”

“Yes? No? Maybe? I don’t know, when was the last time I counted the scars on my wrists?”

“Jacob, do you think I’m hurting you or him?”

“I don’t know-” 

“Then let’s go through this logically. You woke up in bed with me, right? Not in an empty room. You found cigarettes in your nightstand- Greyson doesn’t smoke. Those are there for you. When I came outside, I came to check on you, didn’t I? Not hurt you.”

“I- Yeah- I guess-” He gripped the backpack tighter. “Stop talking like that.” 

“Like what?”

“Like- I don’t know. Like you’re scolding me. Us. I don’t like it…” 

“I’m… sorry. But you’re okay, right?” Marion held his hand out for the bag. He’d let Greyson make it- he hadn’t thought he would ever actually use it. “Running isn’t going to solve anything- it’s only going to make your problems further away. Come sit down. Put a shirt on.”

“All of them smell like you.” Marion couldn’t suppress a chuckle at that. Yes, He supposed they would all smell like him.

“Then maybe I can find something old that we haven’t worn in a while. That way it won’t smell like me.” Marion gently slid the bag from Jacob’s hand and shooed him off to sit on the bed while he returned the backpack to its place and retrieved an old hoodie from the back. 

When he came back into their room, Jacob’s head was downturned, his brow furrowed. He slowly took the hoodie from Marion, but didn’t slip it on.

“Do you… treat Greyson like this?”

“No. Normally there’s a lot more pet names and kisses involved.” Marion sat down next to him, at the foot of the bed as Jacob tugged the hoodie on. 

“I really will get you into a therapist, if you’re okay with that. It’s really helped me, at least. Not Greyson’s, if you don’t want that. There’s plenty of therapists in New York.” Jacob just nodded. He seemed almost… zoned out. 

“Are you… are you okay?”

“Fine. ‘m fine. A therapist would be nice, if I were present more often.”

“Are you dissociating?”

“Yeah. Greyson isn’t… He’s not happy with me. Thanks, though.”

“Is he going to front soon?” 

“I think so. But I’m not- I’m not done. I’m not done talking to you.” Abruptly, his hand shot forward and gripped Marion’s, tight.

Marion ran his thumb over the back of Jacob’s hand. “It’s okay. We’ll get you into therapy. It’s- It’s going to get better, okay? I’ll make it a point to do more for you than- than leaving a pack of cigarettes in Greyson’s nightstand. You deserve more than that.” 

“Thank you. Thank you. I- And I’m sorry. I think Greyson said that already but I… I didn’t.”

“It’s okay, Jacob. I forgave you. You don’t need to apologize.”

“I-” He didn’t finish the sentence. Jacob’s grip slowly slackened on his hand, until it fell back to his side.

He kept mumbling apologies and gratitude as he and Greyson became co-conscious, then as Greyson took over. 

He didn’t say much. Simply leaned against Marion’s chest and let his eyes flutter shut.

“My mouth tastes like smoke.” Greyson murmured. There was a reason he didn’t smoke, after all. He’d had enough of fire, and smoke. Clearly, Jacob missed it, at least in some capacity. 

“Do you want to go and get some water?” Marion rubbed his back, took his hand again, a bit gentler this time. 

“Water’s not gonna help… tastes like smoke when I breathe.”

“I don’t know that there’s much I can do to help you with that. Are you fully present? Just you?”

“Mostly.” Greyson climbed into his lap, his head resting on his shoulder.

“What do you remember?”

“Almost nothing. Do we have to talk about this now?” 

“Not if you don’t want to. Do you just want to go back to bed?” 

“Mhm.”

Greyson looped his arms around his shoulders, and Marion took that as a signal to lift him off the end of the bed, his hands under his thighs. Marion set him down on his side of the bed, almost like a child, and tucked their comforter over him, then the heat blanket- it was still a bit cold after Jacob had left the door open while he was out. 

Greyson hadn’t opened his eyes, but when Marion climbed into bed next to him, he reached his hand over until it landed on some part of him.

“It’s okay, asterotto. I’m right here.” Greyson snuggled up against his side, and Marion let his eyes close. They’d have quite a bit to discuss in the morning, but for now… It was late. Greyson was tired- and Marion was, too. It could wait until morning. 

Or later. Tomorrow was Christmas, after all.

The two had made plans to visit Lottë, Olive, and Benni in the morning. Greyson had bought Benni an adorable sweater, and Marion had gotten her a painting set. He knew Greyson would hate to cancel on them. 

It was a bridge to cross in the morning either way. 

❖⊱⋆❛❜⋆⊰❖

The two had a good morning, at Lottë’s. Greyson hadn’t wanted to discuss it that morning, either, and while Marion insisted they’d have to talk about it eventually, he agreed that it could wait until that afternoon, or tomorrow, even.

Greyson helped Olive make epic apple pancakes while Marion, Benni, and Lottë started on a lego tree house, Home Alone playing in the background. 

And as they were cleaning up, the smell of cinnamon and apples filling the house, Greyson was hit with a sort of saudade, a nostalgia for something he had missed out on as a child.

There, leaning over the counter and watching the three giggle over legos, it seemed to finally hit him how utterly horrible his childhood had been. Without Christmases or birthdays or thanksgivings such as this. He lifted his hands to his face to let out a muffled cry.

Olive was the first to notice. They turned around after drying their hands to see Greyson suppressing quiet cries. They quickly flipped the last of the pancakes over, then slid up alongside where he was leaning on the island.

“Mari-” Greyson quickly shushed them. 

“Let him have his fun. I’m… I’m fine. Just… had an epiphany. That’s all. ‘M just fine.” 

“I- Are you sure? It’s not a panic attack or anything?” 

“No. Just realized every Christmas could’ve been like this if my dad wasn’t half dickwad, half asshole.” 

“Ah… Well, I’m sure Marion will make sure every Christmas is like this from now on. He’s good like that.”

Greyson glanced at them and gave a small smile. “He’s perfect at everything. I have no doubt he will.” 

“You should go freshen up. If they ask I’ll tell them I got batter all over your face.” Olive seemed dead serious. Greyson started snickering as Olive broke into a smile. 

“Thanks. I owe you one.” Greyson slipped down the hall to the bathroom. His eyes always got red and puffy, when he cried, and Marion would know instantly. He wiped his tears away, made sure his eyes weren’t too pink- he hadn’t been crying that long, after all. 

After around five minutes he slipped back out, and Marion was instantly fawning over him. 

“That bastard.” He said over-exaggeratedly. “You were so kind to help them make breakfast, and they had the audacity to get batter in your hair.” Marion’s hands were combing through Greyson’s hair- a neatened-up version of what Dr. Fennel had done in the facility- to make sure there wasn’t any stray cinnamon or apple chunks in it. Greyson shot Olive a little smile, and they pressed their finger to their lips in return. 

Lottë ushered Benni and Olive to the table, plucking the powdered sugar from the counter.

“Come on, you two. You’re not married yet- no honeymoon phase.” Marion let out a full-toned laugh, taking Greyson’s hand and guiding him to sit next to him.

The two practically kissed between every bite- and neither had a set plate. They kept snatching bites off the other’s like jealous children, giggling every time- and with Benni making fake gagging noises from across the table at them. 

They didn’t plan to stay the whole day, though- Lottë and Olive had planned to take Benni to a nearby hill where they could go sledding- she deserved whatever sort of childhood she could get, this late into trauma. 

With that, they headed back to the apartment. 

❖⊱⋆❛❜⋆⊰❖

“I’m making you an extra therapy appointment next week.” Marion said. It wasn’t a question.

“What? Why? Did I- Did Jacob do anything last night…?”

“He tried to run away, for one. And he talked to me.”

“So?”

“And he’s… he’s hurting. Really, really hurting. And I think you need to do a better job of acknowledging that.”

Greyson looked a bit irritated. “He’s a monster. Plain as that. Who are you to decide what I need to do?” 

“I’m your fiancé. And I don’t think he’s any more of a monster than you are. He’s a person. Just like you and I.” Greyson… didn’t seem to have a response to that. Not instantly, at least.

“You have scars- You have handprints! Three of ‘em! And his name carved into your skin. How can you see him as anything other than a monster?” 

“That’s not his name. His name is Jacob. And he was trying to protect you.”

“If that’s your definition of protection, you shouldn’t be a hero.” The second he said it, he knew he’d crossed a line. Marion was quiet for a few, agonizing seconds.

“He’s hurting, Greyson. And I think he’s very, very sick. He needs help, either way. I want you to talk to your therapist about him.”

“I can’t just… trigger a switch, though. I mean, I could if I really tried, but I don’t… want to. It isn’t that simple-”

“I never said it was. I have no idea what it’s like in that mind of yours, Greyson. You could use an extra session anyway. Okay? I’ve already made the appointment. Christmas is not the day to argue about this.”

Greyson had to admit he agreed. 

“What were we going to do, anyway? Ice skating?” That brought a huge grin to Marion’s face- a grin that spread like a disease to Greyson. 

“Oh no. I’ve triggered something, haven’t I?”

“You have no idea. Grab an extra pair of socks, and a beanie. You’re going to want them.”

❖⊱⋆❛❜⋆⊰❖

Marion stepped onto the ice first. At this point, his skates were like a second skin, but Greyson had never used them. He’d had trouble even walking in them, and Marion had had to help him lace them because you don’t understand, you have to tie them tighter than that. 

Greyson was practically clinging to him, one hand on his shoulder, the other gripping his tight enough to hurt, even with their gloves as cushioning. He stepped onto the ice, and the two skidded slowly, Greyson unwilling to let go of him for a moment.

Marion laughed. He knew it’d be adorable, but not this adorable. “If you keep clinging like that, we’re more likely to fall. Or get hit.” Greyson was still hesitant, but he separated enough for Marion to skate backwards, holding his hands. Marion took a few steps, practically dragging Greyson along with him. 

“Well, you have to move. You’ll never get anywhere otherwise.”

“I don’t want to fall-”

“Everyone falls. ‘S part of skating. You’ll get used to it, okay? Take a step towards me.” 

Slowly, Greyson behaving like a pouting child half the time, and a terrified one the other half, they made a lap around the rink. Greyson could see, now, why Marion had wanted to save this for Christmas day. While there were far too many people for Greyson to ever let his guard down, he was truly enjoying himself.

And he was certainly looking forward to that evening- when his feet and legs would be sore, so they’d settle down in the impossibly cheesy matching pajama set Marion fell in love with at Target. 

Once Greyson got the hang of it (and he didn’t have to hold onto Marion or the edge for dear life) he insisted that Marion do a couple laps on his own so Greyson could watch. 

It looked like Greyson had just told a child they were getting a puppy, Marion’s smile was that wide.

And clearly, Greyson had underestimated Marion’s skill in skating. He was incredible. Greyson wanted to kick everyone out of the rink and watch him go for a couple hours. 

It was getting late, though. With the promise of returning soon (and mulled cider and wine back home) he let Marion drag him back to the car. 

That evening, they curled up on the couch in front of A Christmas Story (another tradition Marion insisted Greyson take part in) with a mug of hot cider in each of their hands.

Greyson leaned back and pressed a kiss to Marion’s stubbled cheek. He tasted like cider, and smelled like cologne and Marion and everything Greyson had grown to love so dearly. 

Christmas had never been like this before. And he hoped it would never be like it used to again.


End file.
